


In Balance

by Filigree



Series: Stark 2.0 [2]
Category: The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Alternate Realities, Avengers group marriage, Everyone Is Poly Because Avengers, Implied Sexual Abuse, M/M, Multi, alternate Steve Rogers, reference to major character death
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-03-30
Updated: 2015-03-30
Packaged: 2018-03-20 08:51:51
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,213
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3644181
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Filigree/pseuds/Filigree
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Barnes is happy for Captain Dumbass, really. Stevie has a version of Tony back, someone who really needs a softer, happier world. But Barnes doesn't.</p>
            </blockquote>





	In Balance

**Author's Note:**

> This is not the sequel to 'In Place' that I thought it would be. Unbeta'd, because I want to get it out of the way.

2032 hours. 

Somewhere three streets over, a short hot Avengers-vs-Hydra rematch flared and died in a volley of explosions and alarms. 

“Nope, pal, trial is not something you need to worry about.” Barnes increased the pressure of his boot on the Hydra scientist’s throat. “Don’t need more like you slithering out of jail.” All his weight then; the body shuddered then went still, already bleeding out from Barnes’ earlier gutshot. He left the corpse on the doorstep of the defunct Hydra lair, its left arm posed in a dramatic pointing gesture toward the door, then fell back to observational distance shielded by a big metal dumpster. 

Captain America arrived with barely a scorch mark on his toned-down red and blue combat suit, that turtleshell of a shield already returned to his back. He frowned at the dead, posed scientist. The big blond scanned the dark surrounding alleys, his head up, manner expectant, hopeful smile on his lips.

Barnes settled deeper into the gloom, trusting his own tech to shield his heat signatures. Not gonna happen, Stevie. I’m not coming in. You’ve gone soft. It’s a good look on you. I’m happy for you. But I can’t be what you want me to be. I don’t share and I don’t play well with others.

A troop vehicle pulled up. The first man out was the Other Steve, stern and severe in his black and silver SHIELD uniform. Unlike Dumbass Softy Captain Rogers, Major America nodded approval when he noted the Hydra man’s boot-broken neck.

Hmm. This has potential.

Then the new Iron Man floated gracefully down from the night, in vicious-looking dull gold and dark red armor, blue repulsors flaring like a dragon’s eyes. Barnes couldn’t see the man behind the faceplate, only the way those blue-glowing optics seemed to track from the dead scientist to Barnes’ corner. Geniuses, go figure. This one was a lot less flashy than his predecessor. Just as dangerous, though.

The new Iron Man didn’t alert his mates. When none of them were looking, he gave Barnes’ corner a brief tilt of his helmeted head.

Barnes noticed that Thor and Dumbass flanked Stark 2.0 whenever he was grounded. 

He’s not that weak, you idiots, not if he came through the portal from the same universe as Major America.

#

Before Stark 1.0 had gotten himself killed so stupidly and spectacularly, Barnes had wondered if there was a place for himself in that vibrant group.

Stark would have loved his arm.

Widow would have strangled him to unconsciousness, then brought out the best vodka when he woke up.

He could have charmed the Hulk and the Archer easily enough, showing them fragments of wide-eyed, damaged James Buchanan Barnes to elicit pity and fellow-feeling, prankster Bucky to make them laugh, the Soldier’s steadfast resolve of Never Again to make them understand.

Captain America? Anybody’s guess, Barnes had thought. He’d dragged Dumbass Rogers out of the Potomac two years ago, in the aftermath of Hydra’s Big Play. It had been Steve’s stubborn faith in Bucky Barnes that triggered the Winter Soldier’s abrupt reset. To the end of the line, buddy. You’re my mission. Bucky! Goddamn Dumbass Rogers, your Bucky died. He was weak. He let go. All I can save are bits of the Soldier and bits of Barnes. You’d tear the rest of your marriages apart, trying to fix me if I let you.

But Stark 1.0 had died last year, and Barnes exchanged Hydra-hunting for a deathwatch on Captain Dumbass. 

Then, thanks to freaky science all over again, there were two Steve Rogers and another Anthony Stark.

Barnes had seen the difference in Dumbass and Mates almost instantly, and plotted any number of ways to get Stark 2.0 sewn up tight and proper into the Avengers. He hadn’t needed to fall back on abduction, drugs, and persuasion. Inside of three weeks, the new Stark was confirmed as legal heir to the old one, and married into the Avengers in a fast, tearful municipal ceremony in Central Park. The hundred thousand onlookers had given Barnes hives and near heart-attacks. But everyone had been soft that day, even the villains.

All but Major America, whose stone-faced expression cast a small localized pall over the gaiety. From his perch up a handy walnut tree, Barnes had thought: So that’s how it was, Major. I won’t fault you, your Tony Stark is just as pretty as the last one.

#

2250 hours. 

Barnes waited long enough to verify that the Widow and the Archer directed the thorough sacking of the Hydra lair. He stowed his more lethal and obvious gear in one of his own safehouses, changed into close-enough-to-civilian gear, then backtracked to the diner he liked. Brenda’s apple danish and coffee sounded good, while he waited.

Half an hour later, someone trailed the latest batch of hipsters into the diner. A big man. He moved as if in uniform, even while wearing a nondescript denim jacket, jeans, and pulled-down baseball cap. Brenda sent him to the back of the diner to Barnes’ booth. The man stood silently in the aisle, glaring down at Barnes.

“Sit if you’re gonna sit, pal, otherwise I want my seat back,” said Barnes, and shoved a menu across to the empty side of the booth. The prized corner seat. Barnes’ neck itched under his tied-back brown hair. He hated sitting with his back to danger, even for this man. He sensed people looking, then looking away. They knew Barnes’ cover story, the returned vet with the gloved prosthetic arm and absolutely no tolerance for gang nonsense on his turf. No one had made Major America yet.

The Major sat. Miracle of miracles: when Brenda stopped by, the man managed an almost normal order of hash browns and ham gravy, and another pot of coffee. He drank it almost scalding-hot, with the first look of fleeting joy Barnes had seen from Major Dumbass.

“Let me guess: coffee on the other side is shit.”

The Major’s hands crept possessively around his cup. “It's mostly shit, if it’s good it's rare, and that costs about a week’s wages for a cup. You’re not here to talk about coffee.”

“You know who I am?”

The Major nodded. “Captain Rogers had a good cry about you last week, the feral cat he can’t bring in with catnip. The one who leaves him presents.” He looked bleakly, directly at Barnes. “I read about you. My Bucky wasn’t enhanced by Zola. Mine died falling off a damn train. I find myself grateful for that, now.”

“It’s been a long, strange trip,” said Barnes. “But the Avengers here are okay now, even if they’re pushovers. Even Hydra’s gone soft in the head, hardly any challenge anymore. How about your side?”

The Major sighed. “I have to return as soon as Stark and Reed stabilize the portal. Hydra is very much alive. We purged our SHIELD of their influence years ago, but it caused some friction in the ranks. Some moron resurrected Red Skull, Zola built himself a robot body, and my team might have killed each other in my absence.”

“Need someone on your six?” Barnes offered, gratified by the shocked, warm greed of the look on the Major’s face. 

Better than good coffee.


End file.
